


Stay

by LittleLynn



Series: Don't Go [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A toast to the ships that take you by surprise, Bard being Humble, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Thranduil being Thranduil, Very slight exhibitionism, and his guest, but not really, discussions over wine, dorwinion wine no less, like srsly this ship came out of nowhere and smacked me over the head, oh well, only the best for Thrandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe I wanted an excuse to keep you here.” Thranduil said it like a challenge, a slight glint in his eyes.</p><p>“Do kings need an excuse? I thought they just ordered.” Thranduil’s eyes were ghosting over his face, neither of them worrying about not staring anymore – not that Thranduil had ever seemed worried about that.</p><p> </p><p>OR: Thranduil and Bard continue their discussions long after Bilbo and Gandalf leave the Elvenking's tent. Bard begins to find  the elf more and more interesting and enticing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw BOTFA and unsurprisingly this happened. I may change the title of this and the series, and I will continue the series. Feel free to point out any errors, this was finished after midnight, I'm hoping it doesn't show.
> 
> ALL ABOARD THE BARDUIL SHIP!
> 
> ENJOY

 

 

“I’m not entirely sure if that Halfling is brave or simply foolish.” Bard stated, taking another goblet of dorwinion wine from the Elvenking, shortly after the wizard and hobbit had left the tent, Thranduil's way of requesting – well, demanding, as kings do – he stay a little longer.

He had not missed earlier, the way Thranduil had offered only him a glass, completely bypassing the wizard. Bard wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment to him or a slight to the wizard. He didn’t want to think about it too closely and risk being disappointed.

However, the icy Elvenking had not been nearly as cold to him as those around them. Maybe Thranduil considered him useful to his war, bringing the people of Laketown into the mix. But then, exactly how useful would a handful of untrained, badly armed fishermen be to a war against thirteen dwarves.

Although, if the hobbit’s plan worked, maybe they wouldn’t have to go to war at all.

“Yes. But brave is by far the nicest way of saying foolish anyway.” Thranduil’s voice travelled easily from the table where he looked over maps and plans. Bard wasn’t sure why so many maps were needed, considering that the battle the next day would be fought before the gates of Erebor only.

“You don’t think the hobbit’s actions courageous?”

“I think he underestimates the madness of Oakenshield. I think he believes that his friendship with the dwarf will save him. He does not understand the depths of dragon sickness. Nevertheless, his obliviousness and actions have proved beneficial to us. Many lives may be saved tomorrow because of him. Brave? No. Useful? Yes.” Thranduil explained, running his pale, slender fingers across the Arkenstone, such a juxtaposition to Bards own thick calloused hands, hardened from years of labour.  

“And you will give the Arkenstone back freely? Does not such a prize tempt you? A gem that crowns all.” Bard asked, tearing his eyes away from those hands before he could be caught staring.

“I already have a crown. I have no need nor desire for such a poisonous rock. I wish only to recover the heirlooms of my people.” Thranduil answered, reclining gracefully into his throne, crossing one long leg over the other.

Really a throne in a tent should be ridiculous, everything about Thranduil should be ridiculous. And yet, he carried it off with such an air of surety and superiority that it was all completely un-ridiculous.

“What about you, Dragonslayer, king of the people. It does not seem to tempt you either.” Thranduil did not phrase it like a question, but Bard could tell that he expected an answer all the same.

“I am no king. And I have no desire to be one. I just want to provide for my children, keep them safe.” Bard admitted, still struggling with the idea that all the people of Laketown were now looking to him, it was a responsibility he did not particularly want.

“I fear the people of Laketown have different plans. They look to you as their leader.”

“Like I said, I just want to look after my children, I have no interest in anything else.”

“Yes, and how long, I wonder, until the entire town becomes your children? You can help them, and your heart is far too soft to refuse them.” The elf said, making it sound like an insult, fixing Bard with that penetrating look from startling blue eyes.

“Would you rather I ruled with a heart of ice?” Bard retorted sharply, probably an unwise thing to do to the king of the woodland realm, just as famous for his quick temper and cold anger as he was for his vast kingdom and long rule.

“Do you accuse me of being cold?” Thranduil asked, tone impossible for Bard to interpret; but possibly curious as to his boldness.

“Do you deny it?” Bard felt he should tread more carefully around the Elvenking, wondered if it was the wine that made him bold, or something else entirely. Thranduil raised a thick brow, a flicker of subtle surprise across his regal features.

“When you are sentenced to immortal life in a mortal world; and to watch as your kinsmen are slowly chiselled down by wars. Then you may understand why I do appear cold.” Bard immediately regretted his words, he had never considered it like that before even though it was now so obvious.

“I apologise. I had not realised.”

“And why would you, Bowman? You’ve known nothing but mortal life. Nothing could ever give you my perspective.” Bard was relieved, if surprised, that Thranduil did not seem angry.

“Still, I am sorry if I offended.”

The corners of Thranduil’s mouth turned up ever so slightly, and he reached a hand up into his silken hair and delicately slipped the sparkling silver circlet off his head, running his hand through his hair to let it fall more freely, while somehow managing to make it still appear perfect. Bard wondered if it was possible for him to look anything other than perfect.

Bard wanted to run his fingers through that white-gold hair and discover if it really was as soft and silky as it looked. He wanted to find out if his skin was as ethereally cold as it looked, or if it held surprising warmth. He wanted to see if his skin was pale all over, or if there was colour hidden beneath those rich robes he wore. Dammit, he _wanted_.

Thranduil smirked at Bard’s obvious staring, he could feel himself blush. He didn’t know where the line was, worried that the Elvenking would stop finding his attraction amusing, and start finding it tiresome.

Bard dared to wonder if that would actually happen, if Thranduil would tire of it. Was it amusement his smirk showed or could it be interest? He shook his head internally, remembering himself. He was a simple bargeman, who hadn’t washed in days, was covered in dirt, had grease in his hair and probably stank of fish. Whereas Thranduil was royal perfection next to him.

“You stare a lot, Bowman. I begin to wonder if you have never seen an elf before.” Bard felt the tone was almost teasing, or at least, as close to it as Thranduil would ever get.

“I collected the barrels to take to Laketown. I encountered some elves occasionally. But they were, uh, nothing like you.” Bard finished awkwardly, cringing inwardly at himself.

But they hadn’t been anything like him. They had been tall and beautiful and other-worldly of course. But none of them had been enchanting, they could not have commanded an army with a tilt of the head, or control the attention of a room by mere presence like Thranduil could so easily. And they didn’t make his eyes linger.  

“Of course they weren’t. They would have been lowly Silvan elves. Hardly similar to royalty.” Thranduil replied, somehow making lounging look regal. And _inviting_.

“No. But your son is royalty, I have met him, and I do not think he is like you either.”

“Then maybe it is just how you see me. Do you see me differently to others Bowman?”

 _Yes_.

Bard only managed to nod hesitantly in response. Thranduil rose up from his chair, the long elegant lines of his body making it seem like he was gliding rather than walking, until he was perched on the table next to Bard, somehow managing to even make that look sophisticated. Thranduil’s eyes ran over Bard, he shivered, feeling stripped bare in front of the elf despite all his layers.

Thranduil released him from his penetrating yet captivating gaze and turned to pour them each another goblet of the rich, fruity wine.

“This is strong stuff.” Bard commented, taking the goblet from Thranduil, who inclined his head slightly.

He knew by now he probably had a colour in his cheeks, even after only two glasses, with normal wine he would need an entire bottle to give him as much as a flush. Thranduil seemed completely unaffected.

“If I am to feel the effects of it at all, it needs to be.”

“Really? You don’t seem effected?” Their voices were lower, leaning slightly into each other’s space.

“I would need considerably more. And the eve of a battle does not seem like the place for it.”

Was it the place for any of this, whatever this was, really? Did Bard care? Not really.

“So why have more than a single glass at all?”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to keep you here.” Thranduil said it like a challenge, a slight glint in his eyes.

“Do kings need an excuse? I thought they just ordered.” Thranduil’s eyes were ghosting over his face, neither of them worrying about not staring anymore – not that Thranduil had ever seemed worried about that.

“Indeed, I could have. But I did not want you to stay because you had to. I enjoy, the way you do not pander to me. It is…refreshing.”

“I thought you liked being pandered to by your subjects and visitors.” Bard dared to tease lightly – was this actually happening? It couldn’t be, Thranduil was a king for gods sake, he was just, Bard. Despite this, it did truly seem to be happening, and Bard was not complaining.

“Quite, but you, Dragonslayer, are neither of those things.” Bard could practically feel Thranduil’s breath on his face, sharing the same space now entirely, just centimetres between them.

Bard swallowed thickly.

“It’s getting late, I should probably get back.”

“I would like you to stay.” Thranduil murmured virtually directly into his ear, voice even more like liquid gold than usual.

Bard did not respond with words, he did not see the need to. They both knew he was not going anywhere. Instead he gently took hold of Thranduil’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head towards him and leant in for a soft kiss, praying that he hadn’t somehow got this wrong.

The elf responded almost immediately, turning the soft, almost hesitant kiss Bard had started into a hard, deep kiss. Bard allowed him to take control, wary of hurting the beautiful elven king who looked like he was crafted out of glass. Thranduil appeared to read his mind with his next words, bitten out between kisses.

“I may look as though I am made from silk and crystal. But I promise you it is steel and diamonds.” He said it with such conviction that is was all the permission Bard needed.

He started biting at Thranduil’s lips, startling a gasp out of the king as he tugged at his lower lip, causing it to plump up and fill with colour. Bard sucked on Thranduil’s tongue and balled his fist into his silken hair, pulling at it almost harshly. Thranduil whined loudly directly into Bards mouth, hands beginning to drag at Bard’s clothing, sleek fingers starting to deftly undo the buckles on Bard’s trousers. Who knew, the prim Elvenking of Mirkwood liked it a bit rough and nasty.

“We’re only in a tent.” Bard gasped, choosing now to attack the long pale column of Thranduil’s throat. “We can’t, they’ll hear us.”

“Does it matter? My guards are outside and they do not gossip about their king.” Thranduil replied with surety, his fingers still working off the fastenings on his trousers. Bard felt like he should care that at least someone was going to overhear, but he couldn’t bring himself to. In fact, he almost wanted them to hear. Wanted them to hear a simple bargeman taking their regal king apart.

“However, I would appreciate it if you would only leave marks where they will not be visible tomorrow. I do not feel the need to give the dwarves ammunition to mock me with.” Bard growled in response, but moved his ministrations onto his smooth collarbone, pushing his thick, rich gowns as far as he could to the side. Which was not very far at all.

Bard felt the sudden and violent urge to rid the elf of all his finery. Unfortunately he had absolutely no idea how to undo any of his royal garments. Thranduil had managed to unfasten his trousers and was now working on loosening his underclothes enough to reach inside as Bard kicked off his trousers completely.

“Off.” Bard ordered, voice low and rough, before he could be distracted by what Thranduil’s hands were edging closer to.

But Thranduil only smirked and started to rub Bard through his underclothes before slipping his hand inside and gripping his hard cock. Bard couldn’t help the grunt he let out, the elf’s hand felt _so good_ against his skin, so smooth and soft, yet sure and firm. But Bard wanted Thranduil out of his gowns, now.

“Off, now. _Your majesty_.” Bard commanded, pulling at the Elvenking’s robes.

“Do you presume to give orders to your king?” Thranduil challenged, biting at Bard’s ear lobe.

“You are not _my_ king. Not yet.” But if Bard had anything to say about it, he would be his by the end of this. He punctuated his words by sucking a particularly hard bruise into Thranduil’s exposed collarbone, watching as it bloomed on the alabaster skin of the elf. Yeah, _his_.

“Off.” Bard ordered again.

“And if I don’t?” Thranduil teased, pushing Bard’s coat off his shoulders.

“Then maybe I might decide to leave after all. Like I said, it’s getting late.” Bard teased right back.

They both knew he wasn’t serious and really wasn’t going anywhere – the only thing that could get him out of this tent now would be if it was on fire, and even then, it’s a close one.

Thranduil placed a beautiful white hand against Bard’s chest and gently pushed him back until he felt his legs hit the throne and sat down. He watched unabashed, enrapt as Thranduil began releasing intricate clasps and brooches holding his gown together, but when it slipped to the floor it revealed only another gown beneath it, less thick, but just as maddeningly covering. Thranduil was like a divine present unwrapping itself right before his eyes.

“You claim not to be a king. Yet you look perfectly at home on a throne.” Thranduil smirked, gracefully sliding the rings from his fingers.

“It is easy to feel like a king, when being given such a jewel as you.” Bard replied unwaveringly, hardly believing that this beautiful creature seemed to want him. He was surprised and proud of himself when he saw the faintest blush colour the elf’s cheeks and a soft smile on his lips. He wondered how long it had been since someone had complimented him so honestly.

Thranduil continued to remove his many layers with a tantalising elegance that seemed to Bard to be completely unique to him. The elf was a juxtaposition in so many ways; beautiful but terrible, soft but sharp, ethereal but flawed and bold yet coy at the same time.

Bard couldn’t help but lick his lips as Thranduil dropped another layer enticingly slowly, Bard following it with his eyes as it glided to the floor. Then he slipped off his tall boots, provocatively running his fingers down his long legs, now free of everything except the king’s underclothes made from a fine silk.

Bard could not tear his eyes away as Thranduil flexed his creamy shoulders so that the last of his clothing would drift down the length of his body, pooling at his feet leaving him completely bare for Bard’s eyes to drink in.

He was beautiful, all soft skin and silken hair, long limbs and lithe muscle. Bard stood, moving towards him until there was barely a hairs breadth between Thranduil’s bared skin and his own loosely clothed body. His fingertips reached out, ghosting across Thranduil’s skin, when they finally made contact, he found that his skin held surprising warmth.

He traced his shoulders, chest, hips, back and face, his rough workman’s hands careful to be delicate against the flawless planes of skin of the Elvenking. The expanse of his milky skin was completely unmarred. Perfection, if ever Bard saw it.

“So beautiful. And not a single scar despite your years.” Bard marvelled in a low whisper into the crook to Thranduil’s neck.

“I wish that to be true. You would not think me so beautiful if you could see my scars. Would not think me such a jewel.” Thranduil replied quietly, almost wistfully.

“And you should not think me so shallow.” Bard asserted, taking hold of Thranduil’s chin once again and pressing light kisses to his plush mouth. “You are beautiful, but there are a lot of beautiful people in the world, and none of them turn my head. Admittedly, they could not hold a candle to you. But it is your charisma, your sheer force of will. That is what I truly cannot resist. You are beautiful because you are you; not just because of your face, lovely as it is.”

Bard saw that soft blush tint Thranduil’s cheeks again along with that same small, genuine smile. Bard was glad he seemed to believe it – he meant every word. But it made him wonder how long it had been since he’d believed it. He somehow doubted he was ever told this things by any of his underlings – and what other contact did he have?

Thranduil sighed softly into the kiss as Bard brought his hands up to cradle his face. Once again it wasn’t long before the Elvenking was kissing harder, demanding more. And Bard was more than happy to provide.

He pushed Thranduil roughly up against the edge of the table until it was digging into his lush backside almost as hard as his fingers were digging into his hips. Bard was rewarded with a moan when he bit and pulled on Thranduil’s lip as his hand wrapped around Thranduil’s hot cock and started to stroke.

The elf’s hands scrabbled against the remains of Bard’s clothes, mouths parting slightly as he stripped him of his tunic, leaving him in just his underclothes. Thranduil, getting impatient and increasingly and deliciously desperate pulled at the garments until Bard heard a rip as the king managed to literally tear them off.

“Those were my only ones.” Bard said with a raised eyebrow, but not really minding at all – the Elvenking was so desperate to get him naked, he’d actually ripped his clothes. All his others had been lost in the ruins of Laketown. “We’re not all as rich as you.” Bard teased into his ear, squeezing his now leaking cock, never giving him enough to get proper relief, just increasing his, frustration, wanton desperation and panting whines.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Thranduil panted. “I’ll buy you ten new ones. Just hurry up. _Please._ ”

Hearing the regal Elvenking practically beg, was apparently Bards limit. He hoisted the elf up and shifted that plush ass up onto the table top, pushing him back and leaning over him from between his legs. Bard’s cock was straining against Thranduil’s and Bard couldn’t help but rock them together a few times, making them both moan at the friction. But right now he had other plans for the elf.

He began dragging a trail of bites, kisses and licks down the elf’s neck and chest, latching onto one of his peaked nipples and sucking a biting kiss into it, making the elf gasp and buck up underneath him. Bard smirked up at Thranduil whose head was thrown back and repeated the action on his other nipple until they were both red and puffy.

Bard skated further down with his tongue, deliberating avoiding his hard cock – much to Thranduil’s frustration – kissing up the inside of one long leg, then the other, and lavishing the insides of his pearly thighs with attention instead.

“Bard. Please.” Thranduil pleaded, squirming beneath him, trying to get any friction he could.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Bard winked mischievously up at the elf who looked like he was about to snark right back at him. But whatever retort he had died on his tongue as Bard sucked the head of his cock into his wet mouth.

Thranduil choked back a loud moan as the head of his cock brushed against the back of Bard’s throat. Bard backed off before his gag reflex could properly kick in and suckled at the top of his cock, tonging at the slit while his hand worked the rest of its long shaft. The salty musk of Thranduil was making him hum contentedly around him, and causing Thranduil to cry out again. He wasn’t as thick as Bard’s own cock, but it was easily as long, Bard found himself thinking that if there was such a thing as a pretty cock, it was the one in his mouth.

When Thranduil was panting and truly writhing under his ministration, sweat beading on his skin, Bard pulled off with an obscene pop and leant his weight back over Thranduil and going back to licking at his neck.

“What do you want? My king.” Bard whispered directly into his ear, hot breath ghosting, and tongue tracing over the pointed shell of his ear, nibbling at its tip. Thranduil whimpered, elven ears apparently more sensitive erogenous zones than on the race of men. Or maybe it was just Thranduil. Bard didn’t care to find out, only about knowing how it affected Thranduil.

“You Dragonslayer.” Thranduil whimpered out between gasps, “I want you. Now.”

“How do you want me?” Bard breathed as calmly as he could manage, gently stroking Thranduil, too soft to give him any relief, loving how desperate he was getting as he was teased and being made to wait.

Instead of using words – he did seem to be getting a bit beyond full sentences at this point – he guided Bard’s large hand down past the sensitive skin behind his balls and to his puckered entrance. Bard got impossibly harder at the thought of being inside the Elvenking, claiming him in that way. He bucked against Thranduil’s hip as his fingertips toyed with his hole.

“Do you have anyth– ”

“A vial. Wooden box. Second draw.” Thranduil panted out, pushing his hips down against Bard’s fingertips.

Bard reached into the set of draws to his left, not failing to find the wooden box which had a vial of slick liquid in it.

“Expecting this were you?” Bard asked with a playful raised eyebrow.

“Hoping.” Thranduil panted out completely genuine and disarming to Bard – the King of the Woodland realm had hoped for this? To the point of planning for it? But he’d hoped, not assumed, and that’s what really disarmed Bard. This proud, arrogant elf, stripped down in front of him in more ways than one.

Bard was terrified to feel anything beyond the physical for such an unattainable being, but he’d be lying if he claimed that they weren’t already there.

Bard had to reach up and bury them in a deep kiss, tongue delving deep into Thranduil’s mouth as he slid one slick finger in in one smooth push. Thranduil moaned out and immediately made indications that he wanted another, thrusting his hips down, and Bard wasn’t about to deny him.

Watching the sheer want and pleasure passing across the elf’s face, he slid in a second finger next to the first and began scissoring him open. He began stroking around inside Thranduil, searching for that sweet spot. He knew when he’d found it as his back arched and he moaned shamelessly, precome dribbled from his cock, stood proud against his stomach.

Bard pressed in a third thick finger before Thranduil got impatient again, growing increasing desperate himself, cock throbbing almost painfully as his fingers stretched Thranduil and he watched his face pant in an almost tortured pleasure.

Thranduil wrapped his long elegant legs around Bard and pulled him forward, reaching a hand down to guide his cock to his stretched hole, filled with Bard’s fingers. Bard got the message easily and pulled out his fingers to line up his cock and finally push into that tight heat.

They both cried out as Bard entered him in one slow, smooth thrust. Thranduil’s hand fisted into his hair and pulled him down into a searing kiss, their bodies melting into each other at all points.

“Move.” Thranduil gasped, directly into his mouth, barely bothering to pause their kiss to speak.

Bard didn’t need to be told twice and started thrusting into the perfect, impossible, heat of Thranduil. He picked up the pace quickly, fucking into Thranduil fast and rough before long, obscene sounds falling into each other’s mouths as they breathed each other in, unable to properly kiss as Bard slammed into Thranduil over and over.

Bard adjusted his position slightly a couple of times until he knew he’d got the angle right by the way Thranduil shouted his name – and wasn’t that a sound he could get used to. He sustained his punishing pace, Thranduil’s nails scratching down his back, creating welcome additions to his alread marked back. The elf was quickly and clearly coming apart beneath him, eyes shut, gasping, whimpering and shouting at intervals, Bard hadn’t expected him to be so vocal, he was glad he was wrong.

“Going to come like this? On my cock? Then let me claim you, painting up your insides? Going to let me make you mine? _My_ king?” Bard sucked on Thranduil’s earlobe as he muttered filth directly into his ear, Thranduil whining his assent and pleasure in unintelligible whimpers and when he bit down hard on his collarbone that was all Thranduil needed to explode between them, painting his chest and neck.

He clamped down around Bard, vice-like heat somehow getting even tighter as he came, and Bard only managed half a dozen more thrusts before coming hard inside him.

Bard collapsed half on top of Thranduil, both catching their breath, sleepily coming down from their orgasms. Bard was pleasantly surprised when he felt delicate fingers caressing his back and something settled in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“As much as I am enjoying this. It will soon become unpleasant.” Thranduil murmured, indicating the mess between them.

Bard hummed into his skin neck and decided to solve the problem by licking up their combined come, when he looked up to Thranduil, the elf’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and he ran a finger up Bard’s chest, collecting the come there before sucking the digit into his mouth. Bard grunted at the sight, dick giving a valiant twitch, but he was not so young anymore and would need considerably more time before he could go again.

Carefully he pulled out of Thranduil and cleaned them both up as best he could with his tattered undershirt, before collapsing back next to Thranduil, his head burrowing into the crook of the elf’s neck and arm slung across his torso.

“I do have a bed in here. Just through those curtains. I’ve no doubt it is far more comfortable than this table.” Thranduil pointed out, fingers tracing absent patterns across Bard’s back. Bard grunted in response, still hazy from his orgasm and allowed Thranduil to lead him to the aforementioned bed. Despite being in a temporary tent, it was far grander and richer than anything Bard had ever slept in before.

“I should get back.” Bard mumbled half-heartedly, not really wanting to leave, but thinking of his children. Although, he had told Sigrid that he did not know when he would be back and to look after the other two. She would be okay for one night, and if not, she knew he was with Thranduil, if not the exact location; being in his bed.

“You should stay.” Thranduil replied voice as close to vulnerable as the Elvenking would dare to get, his arm tightening almost desperately around Bard’s waist.

 

Thranduil wanted him to stay, so he would stay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! You made it!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I am open to prompts either for this series or another story (for a disgusting number of ships as well) on [tumblr](http://obithefabulous.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you my fellow Barduil victims!


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